


A Remark You Made

by clevebereave



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingerfucking, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevebereave/pseuds/clevebereave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew would never be able to put into words just why he wanted this so bad, but it made his cock really hard and that seemed like reason enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Remark You Made

**Author's Note:**

> Title is named after a Weather Report song if anyone's interested.
> 
> I feel like I should be a little sorry for this one, haha. Not sorry enough.

The position was degrading, to say the least. Andrew kept himself up on his elbows and knees, naked ass pointing straight in the air while Fletcher was coating his fingers in petroleum jelly. He kept throwing brief glances over his shoulder, taking care to avoid eye contact with his mentor.

Andrew shut his eyes tight when the petroleum jelly was smoothed over his hole. He let out a breath, preparing mind and body for when Fletcher stuck the tip of his index finger in. Slowly, he slid it in to the knuckle. Just as slowly, he pulled back and repeated the motion. The sensation was always a little jarring at first, as if his body warned him of a dangerous intrusion.

A broad hand rested on Andrew's lower back. “If you tense up this badly while I'm fucking you, I'm sending you home.”

Andrew nodded rapidly, compliantly. He wondered if Fletcher was even able to see it from that angle, but didn't dwell on the thought. This was as bad as the threats got when they were intimate, if 'intimate' was the right word to use. He wasn't so sure if 'intimate' and 'Terence Fletcher' belonged anywhere near each other, but more than anything he felt plain silly for even thinking such a word in that context.

It wasn't exactly that Andrew liked being fucked up the ass. Not that it didn't feel good when it came down to it, but it was degrading and strange. It also made him think about his dad a lot for some reason. What would his dad think about it all? Would his dad try to do something about it? What if his dad was watching?

Knowing Fletcher was fingers deep, knowing Fletcher was about to fuck him and knowing Fletcher at least wanted him enough to do it was really what motivated Andrew to keep pursuing it. An ass full of fingers, a head full of fuck and a mouth full of drool, Andrew's cock was growing rock-hard just thinking about how dirty it all was. Every ounce of embarrassment or doubt he felt was matched twice over with arousal.

Needy erection begging for attention, he began jerking himself off. Fletcher noticed almost immediately and gave Andrew a sharp, open-palmed slap to the ass.

“Not your turn,” Fletcher scolded mildly, laughter in his tone.

Fletcher's fingers twisted and probed inside him. A third finger eased in aside the first and second and now the digits working actively to stretch the hole. 

The stretching was always the worst of it. He never got used to the stinging of being stretched to accommodate whatever Fletcher would be putting inside him. It was simple. Making more room in his life for Fletcher correlated with making more room in his body for Fletcher. He silently waited with a forcibly gaped hole as Fletcher worked his way into another aspect of Andrew's life. Maybe it was finally time to put a stop to all of it.

He kept his mouth shut. His cock was crying and leaking way too hard for him to raise any concerns at that point.

The fingers withdrew suddenly. Startled, Andrew's body bucked. He was afraid Fletcher noticed the small puddle of precum. He readied himself for a scolding or rejection, but once he heard the slow unzip of Fletcher's slacks he allowed himself to breathe. He peeked over his shoulder, stole a quick peek of Fletcher rolling a condom over his thick, half-mast cock. Andrew would never be able to put into words just why he wanted this so bad, but it made his cock really hard and that seemed like reason enough.

He gave up the pretense of peeking when Fletcher started slathering the petroleum jelly on the head of his cock. He stared with partial anxiety burning in his stomach and the much more pressing feeling of desire pulsing in his crotch. Seeing Fletcher's prick getting red, hard and ready wasn't all that different from the way he felt drumming for the man. Visceral and desperate, the feelings infected the parts of his life Fletcher originally didn't belong to. None if it mattered, Andrew would let him in anyway.

It took a fair bit of effort for Fletcher to push his cock in. Andrew made his first sound of the night, a high-pitched whine at being split apart. Once Fletcher's length started pushing its way in in it was all worth it. There was that fullness up to his belly, heating him up from the inside and driving him wild. He knew Fletcher wasn't completely immune to it either. The older man was breathing audibly, driving himself in with a patient force through that tight resistance. Andrew hoped it would hurt Fletcher as much as it would make him feel good.

Back before Andrew could conceive sex with Fletcher as a possibility, he always imagined the man fucked like an animal. He imagined being pushed down into the floor by the back of his neck, face forced to rub against wood flooring. His thighs would be spread wide by Fletcher's knees while the man pistoned relentlessly into his ass and growled out insults, swears and angry grunts. He'd dig his fingers deep into Andrew's skin with the intent to leave marks. When he'd come, he'd pull Andrew up by the hair and bottom out, coming inside as deep as he could possibly go before pulling out and throwing the boy back on the ground.

The real thing was nothing like his imagination, to his relief. Instead, Fletcher kept one arm wrapped around the scrawny waist, another hand gripped Andrew's shoulder. He knelt on the bed, body hunched over so that his breath was on Andrew's neck and ears, so that his chin was buried in the crook between the boy's neck and shoulder. He always started slow and careful. He stopped if the boy started to tense up and just tapped a warning on the boy's hipbone to remind him to let up.

It was hilarious to think Fletcher took the idea of “being on his tempo” to bed with him, but that was the impression Andrew got. He'd know if Fletcher was starting to build toward orgasm. The hand on his waist would move to his cock, Fletcher would start jerking him off. A little boldly, one of the hands Andrew used to support himself wrapped itself around the calloused hand that enveloped his cock.

Every now and then Fletcher had to pause. He slowed his thrusting to a near-crawl in order to catch his breath. It was times like this that Andrew was reminded just how old Fletcher was. Instead of the reminder deterring or disgusting him, it sparked a smug amusement. Even the most intimidating man in the world had a weakness. A little mischievously, Andrew used his hips and fucked his ass onto Fletcher's cock. He dared shoot the man a knowing grin and grinned even harder when Fletcher glared at him. The transgression was easily forgotten, as Andrew just moved himself up and down on prick he was speared on until Fletcher was ready to pick the pace back up.

Settled back into the rhythm of fucking, Fletcher squeezed the head and shaft of Andrew's cock. Mouth hovering close to Andrew's ear, the boy was able to pick up on the deep, breathy grunts. 

This was the only time Andrew enjoyed Fletcher's obsessive affinity for tempo. It was that bizarre romanticism that allowed them to cum together. Fletcher, cock buried to the hilt, had his entire body twitch in its orgasm. Andrew felt the orgasm deep in his ass, the pleasure mounting until he was splattering cum all over Fletcher's bed. 

After his breathing evened out, Fletcher slowly pulled his cock out of Andrew. He stepped off the bed delicately peeled the condom off of his waning erection. Before Fletcher started making his way to the bathroom, Andrew stopped him, diving to his knees and licking the tool clean. He hated the taste the latex left, but the heady scent of sweat and cum had his head swimming.

Andrew looked up, gaze meeting Fletcher's. The latter smiled. “Crazy little faggot,” he chuckled and smoothed the boy's hair down. “You're lucky practice is early tomorrow, otherwise I'd be making you clean your cum stains off my bed right now. Now run along.”

Not sure if he wanted to smile or not, Andrew stood and wiped his mouth with his forearm. He watched Fletcher walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Once he could hear the shower running, he got dressed. He stood by the door and listened to the water run for a few more moments before setting out for the night.

Walking home alone, Andrew got to thinking. Maybe it was finally time to put a stop to all of it. What would his dad say?


End file.
